From The Garden History Book

When I was a child of six my family moved to Constantina Spain. We lived in town in a beautiful white washed two story townhouse. It was a very exciting time for myself and my siblings. There are so many wonderful big memories of that time and place but one memory that still surprises me to have imprinted was the smallest of memories. Out in the back courtyard there was a corner fountain were my mother and the housekeeper would fill mop buckets and the old ringer washer. At the top near the water outlet there was a cascade of a delicate plant with the tiniest violet colored flowers that grew out of the overhang. I can just picture it in my mind all these many years later. Such an insignificant little plant, and back then I was keen on wildlife and not gardening so I didn't know the name of it. But that little clump of beautiful and delicate flowering plant life just stuck in my memory. About fifteen years ago we were visiting my wife's parents and I stopped in a local garden shop. The first thing I saw was a shelf full of four inch pots of Kenilworth Ivy, I couldn't believe my eyes when I picked it up, it was like someone jabbed me, the memory of that fountain in Spain came slamming back to me. I let out a shout that scared everyone around me and who probably thought I was crazy. I bought two just in case one wouldn't make it, I know now that you can't really kill it as it is everywhere in the garden. I have such a fondness for this little jewel that when it comes up were it really shouldn't I just turn a blind eye and let it flourish.

There is a pathway under all that, good thing it never gets used much.